Second to None, page 16
On the drive back, we stopped at a small turnout overlooking the sea. The sky was a gentle blue, the water a deeper, hazier shade, and Cass took out his phone to snap photos of Emily and me making silly faces, our arms around each other.
“Want one that’s a little more serious?” he asked. “For the Christmas cards or whatever.”
Emily scrunched up her nose while I gave him my best glower, perfected in hundreds of photoshoots—‘Tilt your chin down a little, that’s it, that’s the angle.’ It made Cass laugh, and I lost the brooding expression, tripped up by the slant of sunlight across his cheekbones.
I tipped my chin towards his phone. “Want me to take a picture of you?”
He shook his head, already slipping it back into his pocket. “Nah, I’m good.”
Damn. I’d have loved to capture him like this: grin lazy and shoulders relaxed, real and beautiful and nothing like that last year in the band, when every glance between us had cut to the bone. But maybe he wanted a time-out from the cameras, which—yeah, fair enough.
By early afternoon, we were back at the villa. After some bread, cheese, and salad that Emily made sure everyone ate in equal amounts, we changed into swimwear and gathered around the pool. A sun sail provided some shade. Cass had just stretched out on his back, eyes closed, when Emily cannonballed in and soaked his chest.
He sat up with a squawk. “Hey! What’s this—a palace revolt?”
She shrieked, giggling, when he jumped in and they started splashing each other, limbs flailing. My gaze snagged on the curve of his shoulders. For God’s sake, I needed to stop acting like some hormone-stricken teenager.
I grabbed my phone and took a quick photo of them, both laughing as she tried to dunk him with her small hands and he pretended to go under. They looked happy. Both of them. The thought made my chest ache a little, and I tucked my phone away without even bothering to check how the picture had come out.
Cass disappeared into the garden some time after that, carrying his guitar that had been delivered earlier. A gentle twang drifted over soon after. The notes were tentative, like he was still searching for the shape of the tune. Once, I would have joined him to offer a lyric or two, make it a playful competition about who could find the cheesiest rhymes because it helped him relax, until we eventually settled into an earnest give and take. Half the songs on our last album had started like that, with us—before we broke each other and then the band.
Maybe I should listen to what he’d done without me.
Instead, I checked my emails to make sure nothing important had come in, and then put the phone away because I’d promised Emily this would be a proper holiday. My mum, Emily, and I wasted some time with a board game we found in a cupboard—some dodgy imitation of a known brand with pieces that didn’t quite fit their slots. “I’m bored,” Emily declared after about five minutes of this, like it hadn’t been her idea.
“What would you rather do, then?” my mum asked.
After a bit of negotiation—no, it was too early for a movie and no, she couldn’t have my phone again to keep feeding candy to a green blob with big eyes and an overbite—she decided that drawing a picture of the sea was an acceptable proposal and went off in search of her crayons. Ah, the joys of child management.
As soon as Emily was gone, my mum leaned back in her chair, her warm gaze taking me in. “Honey,” she began, and I raised a hand.
“Please don’t.”
She sighed and picked up a fallen game piece with a dent in it, turning it over in her hand, while my dad was hiding behind his newspaper. Emotions made him uncomfortable, but he tended to hang around in case he could make himself useful—drill a hole, fix a lawnmower, that sort of thing. “I’m not telling you what to do,” Mum said just as the music stopped for a moment. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions—Lord knows you’ve seen more of the world than your dad and I ever will.”
“Mum,” I said, much more gentle. I knew she’d struggled with how fast I’d had to grow up, how neither she nor dad had been able to protect me from the brutal side of fame—vicious rumours printed next to an unflattering photo, being told exactly how to dress and look for a candid backstage shot, gasping for air in a crowd of paparazzi, camera flashes so bright I saw stars, bodyguards forming a human barrier just so we could get to the car door.
Doing this now, with Cass? I was choosing to walk into an echo of that. His fans had grown up some, but the media was still just as volatile.
But years ago, I’d asked him to do this. Now that he was ready, I didn’t want him to be alone. I wanted… I wanted to be there with him, even if it couldn’t fix our past.
“He’s a lovely boy,” my mum said after a beat, just as Cass’s gentle strumming resumed. “You know we’ve always adored him, don’t you?”
I exhaled and let my gaze drift to the view of the garden, the sea a glint of blue peeking through. “I know, yeah.”
“Good, yes.” Another pause. “It’s just that the first time… You took it so hard, darling. We were so worried about you.”
Fuck.
“Mum.” I shook my head, lungs gripped by an iron fist that pressed them into a sad little clump. “This isn’t like that. It’d be so much harder if he had to come out on his own, that’s why I’m helping. He’s still… I still care about him, always will. But we’re not back together.”
She studied me for a long moment, face shadowed. “You invited him here.”
“I invited Mason, too.”
“But Cass isn’t Mason, is he?” Her thoughtful tone didn’t exactly demand a response, the question followed by a rustle of my dad’s paper as he peered at me quickly, then back down at his sports reporting.
‘Cass isn’t Mason, is he?’
I listened to the quiet progression of notes floating on the breeze, thought about Cass’s skin and the curve of his smile, the quiet rasp of his voice in the morning.
“No,” I told my mum. “He’s not. But he also isn’t the same person he was five years ago. And neither am I.”
“I know, honey.” She shook her head, greying hair whispering along her shoulders, eyes bright. “I don’t think we tell you enough, but we are so proud of the person you’ve become.”
Words lodged themselves in my throat, like breathing around a shard of glass. I swallowed, and swallowed again. “Thank you, Mum. Means a lot.”
She reached across the table to squeeze my hand, letting go only when Emily returned with her crayons and a stack of drawing paper that might, in fact, be documents I’d intended to review. I inhaled and let go of the tension in my neck and shoulders, Cass’s music a soft ache that brushed my skin.
I’d be fine. Yes, my mum liked to worry. But I knew what this was, and so did he.
CHAPTER 14
Cass
Porto Cervo, Monday, August 25th
It felt like the world had hit the pause button. Or maybe just my world—late evening, the villa peaceful in that way no city place ever truly managed. The night air hung heavy with the hum of cicadas, and I closed my eyes and listened, alone on the terrace for the moment.
“I drew you a lizard,” Emily said.
I blinked and turned to look at her. Already in her pajamas, hair damp from a bath, her eyes were drooping with tiredness. She was smiling, though, sleepy pride in how she shoved a sheet of paper at me.
“Did you?” I asked, glancing at Levi who was hovering behind her. He must have fulfilled his bedtime reading obligations to her satisfaction.
“Look,” she said.
I crouched down to do so. Hmm. The drawing was… well. Abstract, so to speak. A brownish-green sausage with eyes and some stick legs. But it had a certain charm, and I was stupidly touched by how she’d tried to capture the tiny reptile we’d seen in the gorge. “That’s awesome,” I told her. “You got the tail just right.”
“You can keep it.” She said it like parting with the paper meant a great sacrifice, so when I thanked her, I made sure my tone reflected the gravity of her offer.
“I’ll find a nice spot at home for it.” I wasn’t even kidding, and maybe Levi could tell because he ducked his head, but not before I caught the smile washing across his face.
Emily nodded like this was the least I could do, and then she gave me a quick hug that took me by surprise, her arms looping awkwardly around my shoulders. I patted her back before she went off, pad-padding across the tiles back to Levi.
“Time for bed, little miss,” he said, voice thick with affection.
I waved and watched them disappear inside, and then it was just me again, propped back against the heavy stone table as I ran my thumb along the edge of Emily’s drawing before I carefully set it aside. Voices drifted out of the house—Emily’s high lilt, Levi’s lower murmur, Cecily and Geoff saying goodnight. It wasn’t that late, but Geoff liked to rise early, had just returned from a bakery run when I’d emerged from my room this morning.
This morning. Levi slipping into my bed, telling me it was just a bit of fun. ‘Nothing heavy.’ Well, yeah—too late for me. But I pretty much pretended for a living, so what was one more lie?
He returned some minutes later, bare feet quiet on the still-warm stone floor, pausing just out of reach to stare at me. Something about the set of his shoulders resonated oddly in my chest, and I tried to mask the quiet tug of anticipation with a smile. “She asleep, then?”
He took half a step closer. “Yeah.”
“Your parents?”
“Just turning in for the night.”
I inhaled and raised my chin by the slightest bit. “So. Just us, is it?”
“Just us.” His voice carried a strange note, but before I could wonder what it meant, he pushed right into my space, crowding me up against the table. Dim pool lights played across his face.
“Lee.” I exhaled and parted my thighs, his fingers grabbing at my ass. “Should we maybe—?”
He flicked a look at the open doorway. With a sharp nod, he peeled himself away—but only to pull me over into the shadows, where a pizza oven sat under an arched roof. Darkness and a distant glitter of coastal lights.
Then he turned me around, pressed me up against the balustrade framing the space. The stone edge dug into my stomach as he shoved up against my back, and God, this was nothing like this morning. No kisses and slow touches, half-swallowed moans—this was his body hard against mine, his hand down the front of my shorts, bringing me off in rough, urgent pulls while he rutted against my ass. I dropped my head, caught between wanting to shove forward into his hand and arching backward against his weight. His teeth skimmed along the back of my neck. Jesus.
“Levi,” I managed, and he slapped a hand over my mouth so I’d be quiet. It felt like when we’d snuck around backstage, urgent and risky, his fingers in my mouth to muffle my sounds, his face pressed into my neck to stifle his own.
I gripped the balustrade, dragging harsh breaths through my nose, his hand rough and sure on me. He rocked against my ass, clothes whispering with each push. Arousal wound tight in my gut. Each jerk of his wrist sent sparks up my spine, and it was too fast, too good, too fucking much. I couldn’t—wasn’t gonna—love you, love you. I shaped the words against his palm and knew he wouldn’t hear them. Knew he didn’t want them.
My legs were shaking. I came with a choked groan.
He kept moving, hot little twitches of his hips against me. I pushed into it, a little sluggish now, spread my thighs a bit more so I could reach back and press my hand against the underside of his cock. I felt him shudder. A strangled hiss close to my ear, then he went still, pressed up behind me.
I exhaled and leaned back into him, his hand dropping from my mouth. We were a mess. Mostly dressed, yeah, but my shorts were damp and tacky, my T-shirt rucked up to my ribs, both of us breathing harshly in the still night air. He removed his hand from my shorts and wiped it, not too delicately, on the fabric.
I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously?”
He gave a faint snort. “Sorry,” he said, not at all sounding like he meant it.
“No, you’re not.” I breathed out and chuckled, soft and low so as not to disturb the quiet space. “Okay, so what brought this on? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Been wanting you all day. Bit pent-up, that’s all.” He stepped back, and I turned to watch him tug at the bottom of his shirt, fanning it a bit, before he grimaced down at himself. Yeah, he’d come in his pants too—like we were teenagers all over again, unable to keep our hands off each other. I wasn’t sure why it felt like a revelation.
He wanted me. And maybe it was mostly physical, but it was a start.
“Well, hey.” I curled my fingers around the curve of his hip. “Guess I should send my trainer a thank-you note. Anytime you want to grab me like this? Feel free.”
For some reason, that made him frown. “It’s not just, like—you’re hot, yeah. But you’re more than that.”
He’d used to tell me that a lot when we were younger. ‘You’re more, babe. You’re so much more than a pretty face.’ Always building me up, protecting me when I let some stupid headline get to me or scrolled through comments I should ignore. Years later, and he was still looking out for me.
Of course I loved him. How could I not?
“Thank you,” I said, and kissed him so I wouldn’t spill the rest of it, words tumbling around my head like the LEGO designs of an insane architect.
We moved inside some minutes later, turning off the pool lights and locking the terrace door. I pinned Emily’s drawing to the fridge before following Levi toward our side of the house. Everything felt like a secret. We paused in front of our doors, and I knew I shouldn’t push, knew he’d drawn a line just this morning. Casual.
Hand on the door to his bedroom, he seemed to watch me—green eyes dark in the dim light of the hallway, cheeks still faintly flushed. “‘Night, Cass.”
“Yeah. I, uh.” I could ask, right? I could ask, and he would say no, but at least I’d have put myself out there. “Hey, we could sleep in the same bed? Not like—nothing heavy. Just nice to share, right? I haven’t done that since…” You. “Not in a long time. Other than a couple nights ago, of course.”
And I’d just thoroughly dismantled my own argument, hadn’t I?
Levi rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away, and visibly hesitated before he spoke. “Last time I did that—before Friday, I mean—the guy made off with all the cash in my wallet.”
“Shit. That’s…” Christ, I didn’t even know. Jealousy swirled in my blood like heady wine. At the same time, I wanted to smooth the wrinkle between Levi’s brows with my thumb, undo whatever he must have felt that morning—waking up to find he’d been used.
“To be fair,” he said, a bitter note of self-deprecation running through his voice, “I was absolutely wasted that night. No clue what he even looked like, just grabbed some willing body. Might be I didn’t even get it up, can’t say I remember.”
Oh, fucking hell. I didn’t think, just closed the gap between us and touched his shoulder, waited for him to look at me. “Hey. Hey. None of that means you deserved it.”
He sucked in a breath, loud in the silent hallway. “I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in years, Cass. Not since… Not since the second opinion we got for Jess.”
There was nothing I could say, so I folded my arms around him. He melted into me, our bodies flush from hip to shoulder, cheeks pressed together. We stood like that for seconds, maybe minutes.
When he drew away, he brushed a thumb under his left eye, then met my gaze. “Emily sometimes sneaks in,” he murmured, and I needed a moment to get it.
Oh. So… no, then. I nodded and stepped back. “Okay.”
“It’s rare, though.” He cleared his throat. “So, yeah. It’s probably okay if we share a bed.”
“Yeah?” I tried to temper my smile to something reasonable. Based on his quiet chuckle, I failed.
“Yeah,” he said, and maybe it meant nothing to him, just skin contact and the quiet rhythm of someone else’s breathing beside him.
But it felt like I’d won something.
Sardinia, late August
The days blurred like Emily’s watercolor attempts to paint distant sailboats, splashes of purple and yellow that melted into shades of blue.
We cycled through a wetlands park to watch large colonies of flamingos wading in the shallows, their pink feathers brilliant in the afternoon sun. A private boat tour took us into a vast marine cave with stalactites and stalagmites flickering in the low light, an underground saltwater lake shimmering in the dark. We drove inland to an agriturismo, a baby goat nibbling at Emily’s shoelaces while a shepherd explained how they produced pecorino cheese using age-old methods. There were lazy afternoons by the pool and board games that Levi and Emily had picked up in town while I waited in the car, baseball cap pulled low to shield my face.
Levi and I folded back into each other in a way I hadn’t dared to hope for. Stolen moments behind half-closed doors and slow pieces of night once it was just us, quiet mornings with sunshine and reality pressing in. Light and easy, he insisted, even when I dropped silent words into his mouth and slept with my head on his shoulder.
For the first time in years, I could breathe.
Porto Cervo, Thursday, August 28
“Your music is sad.”
I looked up at Emily, hands on her hips as she assessed me. The grave impression was somewhat lessened by her pink, frilly bathing suit. We’d bought it the day before in a tourist trap kind of shop, the three of us browsing for silly hats and outrageously patterned shirts, posing with feather boas and party glasses, until she decided that this was the bathing suit for her. I wasn’t sure she’d taken it off since.
“The song I’ve been working on?” I asked, tilting my face into the late afternoon sun. To me, it felt more hopeful than sad, but I could see how a kid would have a different interpretation of whatever snippets she might have caught.
